Not my characters or song lyrics. Dedicated to KiraSparrow and Atalanta Pendragonne for being lovely and frequent reviewers. What happens on "Friday" is especially for KiraSparrow. Without you two, this would have been a lot longer coming.

Whistling tunes we hide in the dunes by the seaside

Whistling tunes we're kissing baboons in the jungle

It's a knockout

If looks could kill they probably will

In games without frontiers

War without tears.

- Peter Gabriel

…..

On Monday the Doctor has a black eye.

"Are you all right?" Amy asks, seeing it.

The Doctor smiles and adjusts his bowtie to hide the hickey. "Yes."

…

On Tuesday the Master blasts Japanese pop music over the speakers, having wired everything together in a convoluted mass that takes the Doctor hours to fix.

"I kind of like this song," Rory says after the Master is done laughing maniacally. The Master replies by giving him thumbs-up.

"You would," Amy grumbles before she puts on the earmuffs she found in the wardrobe.

"Dance with me, Doctor!" the Master whoops, pirouetting away through the corridors.

…

On Wednesday the Master approaches Rory with a bundle in his arms. "What's this?"

The Master doesn't mind terribly, because he has also managed to find a beige cricket outfit and a stick of celery. He goes to search for the reminder of simpler times. "Doctor? Where are you?"

….

On Thursday Rory and Amy get dropped off in Leadworth to have tea with Amy's parents. The first time they did this, before the Doctor found the Master again, they repeatedly apologized for doubting Amy. This time they're more interested in hearing about their adventures.

Amy is partway through how they helped save these aliens that were actually sentient balls of wool when a disheveled, damp, and weed-covered pair of Time Lords burst through the front door. Carrying shopping bags.

"Sorry to interrupt," the Doctor says breathlessly.

"We've got a mob. My fault," the Master says. He doesn't seem very sorry. He also seems to be carrying far fewer bags than the Doctor.

"And we've got a Weeping Angel in the cemetery."

"What's a Weeping Angel?" Rory asks.

"Who's that?" Augustus Pond asks, pointing at the Master.

"It's the Doctor's…friend," Amy says.

"Nemesis," the Master says haughtily.

"Don't start that. It's not the time. So, help me – us – get this in the TARDIS? And stop the Angel? That is, the three of us. The Master is staying in the TARDIS so he doesn't get pitchforked."

"I was only telling a true story. It was funny…"

The Doctor put a hand over his mouth. "Hush, dear. Amy, Rory, need you now."

Amy motions to Rory and they start gathering bags. "How are you going to stop the Angel?"

"What's so bad about an angel?" Mrs. Pond asks.

That wicked grin lit up the not-so-imaginary friend's face. "Sledgehammer."

"Sorry about this," Rory says as they rush. "Pretty typical for us. I try to keep the rest in line."

….

On Friday, Rory struggles against his restraints and tries to stay calm. "I really don't think you want to do that, Master."

"Oh, but you look like you'd be so tasty, Rory."

"I didn't sign up for this! The Doctor didn't say you were a cannibal!"

"I'm not an ape, so it's not being a cannibal. Besides, you can't act like you're not enjoying this."

"Get off him! How dare you, alien scum!"

"Ow!" Captain Jack Harkness sits up, the spell broken. "Amy, the deal was some role-play, not you breaking a bottle over my shoulder."

Amy, wearing nothing but pink panties and a blush, apologetically starts picking up glass shards. "Sorry. I wanted to indulge Rory but it's hard not to get all protective."

"I think it's sweet," Rory says. "We can always go to plan B."

Soon:

"Why, Centurion! You look lonely, guarding the Pandorica all by yourself. What could possibly be in there?"

"The most valuable thing in the world: the hottest woman who ever lived."

"Bet I'm hotter."

"Well, we'll just have to open it and check."

Amy crawls out of the makeshift pillow-prison just as Jack is stripping. "Excuse me, I think I'll be the judge of the sexiest person here."

A lovely, if at times comical, three-way ensues.

…

On Saturday, both the Doctor and the Master succumb to a twenty-four-hour flu virus that doesn't affect humans. They insist on staying in the same bed, but otherwise have been rendered weak-willed and kittenish by the illness. Rory tends to the temperature-taking, sheet-changing, and vomit-basin-providing. Amy makes gallons of tea and reads them stories from a book.

When their systems are completely out of anything that could come up, they mostly sleep. The Ponds find them curled together, the Master's fist curled around the Doctor's right index finger like a parent and child.

"I'm glad we're not the only humans left," Rory whispers.

Amy nods and spends a few minutes getting things out of her eyes.

…

On Sunday, the Master has a black eye.

"Are you all right?" Rory asks, seeing it.

"As well as I can be," the Master says, with half a smile.

The author would like to thank you for your continued support. Your review has been posted.